


Tell It To My Heart

by Edge_of_Clairvoyance



Series: The Silver Collar [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A little bit of comfort, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Non-Sexual Slavery, POV Outsider, Prostitution, Slavery, Teen Dean Winchester, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:06:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_Clairvoyance/pseuds/Edge_of_Clairvoyance
Summary: Time stamp for The Silver Collar series: a year before the events of "Ends of the Earth, Edge of Heaven", a teen prostitute meets a sad, green-eyed boy.





	Tell It To My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** the story contains themes of prostitution and underage prostitution, although there is no explicit sexual content happening "on screen". There are also implied slavery and abuse, and language. If any of it may disturb you, please don't read.
> 
> This story takes place about a year before the events of ["Ends of the Earth, Edge of Heaven"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16066151). Although it doesn't contain spoilers, I believe you will enjoy it better having read the main story of the series and being familiar with the background.
> 
> My relentless betas [ToscaRossetti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToscaRossetti/pseuds/ToscaRossetti), [alexofthegarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexofthegarden/pseuds/alexofthegarden) and [CrazedPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazedPanda) made this story error-free, but if you still manage to find anything wrong, it's my fault :)

                                       

 

Marsha parked at the curb and turned on the dome light. Vicky watched her apply another layer of red-hot lipstick and pucker her lips at the rear-view mirror.

Without taking her eyes off the mirror, Marsha tossed Vicky the lipstick. "Put some more on. You look like a fuckin' corpse."

Vicky flipped down the sun visor to the mirror side and studied her reflection in the poor, yellowish light that made her skin look like wax and her eyes become lost in deep shadows of eyeliner and mascara. More makeup was definitely not what she needed, but she obediently touched the lipstick to her lips, smeared it a little with her fingers, and then tapped the excess paint from her fingers on her cheeks.

She handed the lipstick back to Marsha and glanced at the mirror again. Now she looked more like what she was. A painted whore.

They had to walk for a block to get to the motel; Marsha was always careful to park some distance away from the address. She said it was for safety reasons, but Vicky guessed she just didn't want the clients to see the rusty Volkswagen she drove. Marsha pretended to be a high-end call-girl – she might have even believed her own act; Vicky didn't think the clients did even for one second. They knew what they were paying for, and exactly how much.

They walked along the row of rooms until Marsha stopped by one of the doors and knocked on it.

"Who's there?" The voice from inside the room was husky, menacing. Vicky nearly took a step back.

Marsha wasn't discouraged by the gruff tone. "It's your delight for tonight," she called, stretching her lips into a broad smile.

The lock clicked, the security chain rattled, and the door swung open. A man stepped outside, heavyset with a dark beard that seemed to merge into the curls of chest-hair that protruded from the top of his shirt.

 "Sorry, baby, you can never be too careful, can ya?" He wrapped a burly arm around Marsha and pulled her to him, his palm cupping her butt.

"Did you miss me, Lou, honey?" Marsha rolled her hips against his. "It's been so long."

Lou moved his other hand to fumble for her breast. "I missed you like crazy, babe. You're the only thing worth returning to in this shithole of a town."

"You can say that again," Marsha giggled and pushed away from him, albeit not too forcefully.

Lou looked over her shoulder at Vicky. "That the girl?"

"Yeah. Ain't she a pretty little thing? C'mere, Candy, say hi."

Vicky forced a smile onto her face and stepped forward. "Hi, Mr. Lou."

His eyes seemed to devour her, from the top of her blond-dyed head to the soles of her high-heeled shoes. "A piece of fine candy indeed. I'm starting to get second thoughts here, Lola."

Marsha's mouth twisted before she schooled it back into a lascivious smile. "A big man like you needs a _real_ woman, Lou, not a little girl. You know only Lola can handle your giant cock just right, don't you, sugar?"

Lou's grin was evident inside his beard. "Yeah, you're the best, baby." He turned his head some and shouted at the open door, "Get your ass out here, boy!"

There was a rustle from inside the room, and another man appeared at the doorway. No, not a man, Vicky saw; he was tall and broad-shouldered, but he was barely older than her, maybe seventeen at the most.

He was dressed in a discolored old flannel over a tattered shirt, and the rips in his jeans had nothing to do with the current fashion. There were faded bruising marks around his left eye that could have only been the remnants of a shiner, and another partly-healed cut over his right cheekbone.

But rather to diminish it, all of this only served to accentuate his beauty, and Vicky was overwhelmed with shame at the realization that her first thought was not how well this boy could have done as a teen model, but how much he could have made in one night working a corner.

The boy came to Lou's side, like a dog obeying a command to heel. His green eyes scanned both Marsha and Vicky, and even though he was standing quietly with his arms by his sides, Vicky had the odd impression he could have his hands wrapped around her throat in a matter of seconds.

"You done with the cleaning already?" Lou asked.

"Yes, sir."

"I got this little doll here for you," Lou jerked his head at Vicky. "But if I find out you've been slacking, I'll take what I'm paying for her out of your ass. You hear?"

"Yes, sir."

Lou fished a set of keys out of his pocket. "You can screw in the car while Lola 'n I are in the room, and I better not find any jizz on the upholstery, or that's coming out of your ass as well." He tossed the keys at the boy, and turned his attention back to Marsha.

"C'mon, babe, I've been waiting long enough," he wrapped his arm around her waist again and steered her into the room.

"Be a good girl, Candy, don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Marsha chirped.

"That wouldn't be a whole lot, now, would it?" Lou quipped, and they both burst out laughing as the door slammed shut behind them.

Vicky was left standing there, staring at the boy. His eyes followed Lou and Marsha's silhouettes moving behind the curtains until the light in the room was turned off. Then he glanced at Vicky.

She smiled at him, suddenly nervous. He looked at her for a moment longer before sighing. "We'd better get in the car," he said.

She followed him to a mud-colored pickup and he held the passenger side door open for her as she climbed in. She took a breath while he went around the front to the driver's side. This might not be too bad, he didn't look even half as nasty or smelly or drunk as most of her clients. He actually didn't even appear all that interested, only tired and resigned.

The boy climbed in and slid the key into the ignition. "I'll turn the heating on, you must be cold." After he finished adjusting the vents, Vicky reached over to undo his fly, but he grabbed her hand.

"Don't… you don't have to do that," he said. He moved her hand away gently and let go of it.

"Your dad's paying for this," Vicky said. The nervousness that had started to ease off was now returning.

The boy's face scrunched up as if he was biting into a lemon. "He's not my dad, and I don't give a fuck what he thinks he's paying for."

Vicky shrunk away over the bench, wondering how did she managed to screw this up, and how mad was Marsha going to be when she found out the client turned Vicky down. Probably very, especially if Lou was to demand a refund. The boy glanced at her and the hint of rage seemed to vanish as he let out a breath and leaned back in his seat.

"I'm sorry. It's not your fault. You're a very pretty girl, and had we met at some bar I'd probably buy you a drink and try to pick you up and be happy if you'd oblige. But this… it wasn't your choice to have some random guy fuck you in a motel parking lot, not really. And I don't want it to be this way, not if _I_ have a choice about it."

Vicky found herself dumbfounded for a minute. She couldn't remember this kind of reaction from a client – and also not this kind of pain, this kind of _knowing_ she saw in the boy's eyes.

When she finally found her voice, she was half-whispering. "You couldn't've picked me up at a bar."

"What?"

She tried to muster up some confidence. "You couldn't've picked me up at a bar. I'm underage."

 Now he was the one staring at her, a little stunned at first, and then the corners of his mouth turned the slightest bit. "So am I."

"I'm Vicky," she didn't offer her hand, but he didn't seem to expect it.

"Not Candy?" He still wasn't exactly smiling, but his voice sounded lighter now.

She shrugged. "Clients get a kick outta fucking a Candy. A Vicky, not so much."

"I like Vicky better," he said. "Nice to meet you, Vicky. I'm Dean."

She smiled at him and the streetlight of the parking lot made his freckles glint softly as he smiled back.

"Oh, speaking of candy," he twisted to reach into his pocket. "Are you hungry?"

She looked at the Snickers bar he offered her. "No, it's okay."

"Take it," he held her hand and put the candy bar in it.

The wrinkled and chafed wrapper suggested Dean had been keeping the Snickers for a while now, and the way he practically tore his gaze away from it made her heart clench a little. She unwrapped the candy bar, broke it in two and held one half out to him.

"No, you eat it," he said, but she shook her head.

"I'm not eating it if you're not."

His eyes leaped from hers to the Snickers, and then his adorable smile resurfaced and he took the candy.

The Snickers was on the verge of going stale, but from the corner of her eye Vicky could see how Dean relished every eager, tiny bite.

They stayed quiet for a while longer after they finished eating. Some cars passed on the street in front of the motel. A door slammed somewhere down the row of rooms and a cat screeched and darted across the parking lot.

"Where would you have picked me up?" Vicky asked all of a sudden.

Dean turned his head. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Not at a bar, since we're both underage. Where would you have picked me up, then?"

He grinned. "At school, I guess. I'd be, let's see… probably on the wrestling team. Do wrestling teams have cheerleaders?"

She returned the grin and turned a little in her seat to face him. "I'd talk to the cheer coach, arrange a squad with some of the girls to cheer for your team."

"Awesome. As a thank-you, how about I drive you home after school?"

"What kind of car do you have?"

Dean rolled his eyes to stare at the pickup's ceiling as he thought this over. "A 1968 Mustang Fastback. Found it at a salvage yard and rebuilt it myself."

Vicky had no idea what that car was supposed to look like, but she could tell Dean loved the image he was seeing in his mind's eye. "Cool. I'd like a ride in that."

"You got it. I'll wash it extra nice for the junior prom, if you come with me."

"You're asking me already?"

"Sure. Gotta beat all those other guys you have lining up to ask."

She couldn't help the little giggle that escaped her lips. "Just make sure to get a corsage to match my gown."

"What color gown are you wearing?"

"I like yellow."

His eyes traveled down over her tight, pink minidress, but his gaze held not even a trace of the greedy lust Lou's did.

"I bet you look stunning in your yellow gown. I'll have to fight off half the school."

"It's a good thing you're on the wrestling team, then, isn't it?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, it is. If you had enough of dancing, how about we climb back in my Mustang and blow this joint?"

"I'd like that."

"Where would you like to go?"

"I don't know. Somewhere nice. Somewhere…" her eyes were trailing over the dashboard and lingered on the key in the ignition. "Somewhere far away," she whispered.

Dean was very still by her side and when she looked over to him, she noticed his gaze had followed hers. They both looked up from the key, their eyes meeting. His lips twitched a little and he turned his head away from her. His hand rose to touch the collar of his shirt, and Vicky saw, briefly, a flash of silver beneath the neckband.

"I wish I could take you somewhere far away, Vicky. I really wish I could."

She swallowed with a throat gone dry and sore. That tiny, momentary flame of happiness should have had no right to have kindled in the first place; neither of them was going to go to school, be on the wrestling team or the cheerleading squad, dance at the junior prom. They were both prisoners without any hope of ever removing their chains.

Her hand was moving even before she realized it. Dean almost jolted when she put her palm on his. She offered him a hesitant smile, but she could also feel how sad and tired it must have looked.

He nodded at her, his fingers weaving with hers. They sat silently, staring out the windshield, their joined hands resting on the seat between them.

At last Dean turned his head toward the motel room. Vicky leaned a little to get a better look; pale light showed a shadow moving behind the curtains. Dean looked back down at the hands they were still holding, let out a little breath and reluctantly untangled his fingers from hers.

When he met her eyes again, she saw regret in his; regret and sadness and agony so intense she had to blink back the tears that had suddenly started prickling her eyes. It wouldn't do to have Marsha see her eyeliner dripping all over her face.

Thinking of Marsha made her remember, and she pulled the wrapped condom out of her jacket pocket. "Can you get rid of that?"

"No problem," Dean took it and stashed it in his pocket. Vicky leaned toward him, and as he lifted his head, she touched his lips with hers. She lingered on his soft, warm mouth for a moment, then pulled back.

He had his eyes closed for a few second longer, and when they opened, some of the pain had dissipated; not a lot, but some. Dean smiled at her, softly, then opened the car door.

They climbed out of the pickup right as Marsha and Lou stepped out of the motel room. Dean pretended to be righting his clothes, and Vicky followed his lead and tugged down the hem of her dress.

"You kids have fun?" Marsha's voice was jolly, but her cold, calculated eyes scanned both Dean and Vicky, trying to figure out whether the client was pleased and the merchandise left in an acceptable condition.

"Yeah, tell me if Candy here is as sweet as her name, I might want to munch on her next time," Lou said. Even though Vicky wasn't looking at Dean, she could sense him almost wince.

"She is, sir. Thank you for that, I appreciate it, sir," Dean was keeping his stare lowered and his tone subdued.

"You _should_ appreciate it," Lou growled. "You should be fuckin' _grateful_ , you son of a bitch. You don't fuckin' deserve it."

Dean's eyes dropped further, and a wave of rage washed over Vicky, so sudden and tenacious that her entire field of vision turned red.

She wanted to scream at Lou that Dean wasn't the son of a bitch between the two of them, he wasn't the one who bought two hookers, one of them a minor; he wasn't the one who had currently started nuzzling Marsha's neck and squeezing her ass with both hands as farewell.

And he was right, Dean didn't deserve it – he didn't deserve to live with this hideous man, to be dressed in threadbare clothes, to be so hungry an old Snickers bar was a treat, and so lonely that a used-up whore was welcomed company.

Her fists clenched and she tried to inhale, but it was as if there wasn't any air around her to flow into her windpipe.

"Vi- ah, Candy?" She blinked and focused on Dean's worried eyes.

"I'm fine, it's just…" she took a breath, then another one, and unclenched her fists. "I'm fine."

Dean nodded, threw a glance at Lou, who was still saying his obscene goodbye to Marsha, and looked back at Vicky.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"I should be thanking you, for not being like that," she gave a slight nod in Lou's direction.

"I guess… we can consider ourselves even, then?" A hint of Dean's smile returned; pale and defeated, but it was there, and Vicky felt a smile of her own tugging at her lips.

"Unless you bring me the wrong color corsage, in that case we're done."

He shook his head somberly. "Yellow. I remember."

"Candy! You coming or what?" Vicky glanced over to see Marsha had stepped away from Lou and moved a little down the row of doors.

Vicky looked back at Dean. His smile was gone now, and his face wore a soft expression, almost like longing. "Goodbye," he whispered.

Her throat choked. "Goodbye," she whispered back. Then she turned to follow Marsha back to the car.

"That Lou's one fucking idiot," Marsha grumbled as she tightened her jacket around her. "But he's easy to satisfy and he tips. The kid give you trouble?"

"No, he was okay."

"From the way Lou talked about him, you'd think he was a serial killer at the very least."

 _Then why would you even consider giving me to him?_ But Vicky didn't say it out loud. They reached the car and Marsha dropped into the driver's seat with a relieved sigh. She sat there for a moment with her eyes closed before straightening up and looking at herself in the rear-view mirror. She wiped a finger under one eye at a spot of smeared mascara, then turned the engine on.

Vicky leaned her head back and stared out the window. Houses rushed back by the car, some windows glowing with light, others dark. Vicky wasn't so innocent anymore to believe that a merry light in the window meant there was happiness inside the house as well, but a dark window didn't always mean the life inside the house was as dark.

Vicky could still feel the warmth of Dean's hand lingering in hers. It would soon fade like every other good thing she ever had. In the meantime, until it did, she slid her hand into her jacket and rested it above her heart, trying to savor it for a while longer.

She didn't think they would see each other again. But wherever they ended up, they would have this moment in which they weren't sad children that had fallen through the cracks of a cold, indifferent world; a moment in which they could flirt at school and dance in the junior prom and drive away together in a vintage Mustang.

They would have that moment, and not Lou, not Marsha, not anybody had the power to take it away from them. And behind the dark windows of their lives there would be this one tiny, warm light.

 


End file.
